Ratfinks, Suicide Tanks, and Cannibal Girls!
by DeathProofGirl
Summary: I'm not insane. I'm not insane. I'M NOT INSANE! rating may change
1. Chapter 1

1.

For the third night in a row Rhys Durden couldn't sleep. All he could do was lounge around his room and listening to his stereo and doing . . . whatever. He laid his slender frame across his bed, letting his head hang off the edge of the bed and blaring _Evil (A Chorus of Resistance)_ on his headphones.

As he rested his burning eyes he began to think about Mr. Johnson, the twitchy realtor who sold his mother the house. He didn't like him. He gave a weird feeling and Rhys could've sworn that he was hitting on his mother. But that wasn't what he was thinking about. He was thinking about earlier that afternoon, when Mr. Johnson came over and shooed Rhys upstairs, but Rhys stayed at the top of the stairs just out of sight.

All he heard was whispering from Mr. Johnson, shocked gasps from his mother, and a name. He couldn't remember it. It was right on the tip of his tongue. What was that name?

"Krueger." He breathed as beads of sweat began rolled down his forehead. He opened his intense blue-green eyes to suddenly find his whole room quiet and dark. "I must've dozed off." He muttered quietly to himself, assuming that his mother had come in and turned off all his stuff.

He suddenly heard a noise. Someone was revving the engine of what sounded like a muscle car. Actually it sounded more like the growling of some strange beast. Rhys got up and walked over to window pulled out the curtains. His sleep strained eyes scanned the street and noticed a car cruising down Elm Street as fat snowflakes began to fall. It was slick and simple, the black paint shined and the glossy chrome glowed in the street light. If Cadillac made hotrod hearses, it'd look like this. Rhys heart began to race and his stomach filled with a strange sense dread as the slowed to a stop in front of his house.

He swiftly grabbed his black aluminum bat and quietly crept through the hall, down the smooth carpeted stairs, and stared through curtain of the window on the door. A tall lean figure stepped out of the car. The brim of his fedora was pulled down low, hiding his face in shadows. The mans heavy trench coat swung inches above ground as his red and green sweater seemed to pop out against the harsh white of the snow.

As the man marched up the walkway the street lights shimmered off of something in his right hand. A knife perhaps. Rhys wiped the sweat from his brow and tightened his grip on the bat. The man was at the door. Rhys could feel the man's eyes burning into his own. The doorknob began to rattle.

With a white knuckle on his bat he inched toward the door, his heart hammered against his rib cage as he stared at the man in the window. He ripped open the door ready knock the stranger into last week, but no one was there. An icy chill blasted up his spine like a bullet as he peaked outside the door. The man and the hearse were gone.

"I need a good nights sleep." He sighed as his closed the front door and begged his heart to slow down. He leaned against the door and closed his eyes. He hoped his mind was mind was playing tricks on him. He hoped that they were simply delusions from lack of sleep and that he didn't need to take any more medication than he was already had been.

He opened his eyes and his heart leaped up into his throat. His house, the brand new house that he and his family were in, looked like it should've been condemned. Filthy faded rugs covered the floor, repulsive puke-yellow wallpaper clung to walls, tattered old toys were scattered across the ground, and the smell of burnt flesh invaded his lungs.

He dropped the bat, yanked open the door, only to have a burning hot hand clasped around his throat. "Ahhhhhhhhh!" Rhys choked as the man from before slowly raised him up off of the ground. In the flickering light of a nearby lamp revealed the man's face. It was a mass of red burn scars with a his lips curled into a cruel smile and his pale green eyes twinkling with sick joy at watching Kirby struggle for air.

The man slowly raised his hand. Rhys' eyes narrowed with fear. The man wore a glove with long ultra sharp blades emerging from each finger. Rhys didn't know what was going on but he wasn't going to die without a fight. He kicked the old man in the face causing the man to drop him the floor.

He stared up at the man whose head was still tilted backwards, his hat delicately falling to the floor. The man moved his head forward and stared at Rhys with the same wicked smile still carved onto his face. Rhys scrabbled to his feet and ran into the living room with the man in hot pursuit.

The man grabbed a hand full of Rhys' straight dark blonde hair as he ran. Rhys turned and tackled the man and punched the man over again until the man was able to grab Kirby's arm. He tried to ignore finger knives dug into his arm and the warm blood that gushed out of his wounds. With his free hand the man grabbed Kirby's throat and began to choke the life out of him. The man rolled him over pinning him down. Rhys kneed the man in the groin and pushed off of him. He ran back into the hallway. The front door was missing so he ran to the kitchen door but it'd been boarded shut. He quickly grabbed a rusted butcher knife from the grimy sink and turned just in time to see the standing a few feet away from him.

His deranged smile had been replaced by hate filled scowl and eyes were overflowing with fury. As he stomped toward Kirby, he dragged a long finger knife along the metal of one of the chairs. Rhys clutched the handle as he met the deranged stranger's eyes with equal fury. "You want me you sick, bastard," Rhys said, not hiding the smirk that was spreading across his face. "Then just _try_ and take me."

They changed towards each other and without warning Rhys shot up in his bed, accidentally snatching his headphones from the plug and sending heavy metal exploding from the speakers and cutting through the silence. His eyes frantically searched his room. Then he looked himself over. The cuts were still on his arms, his sweat soaked tank top was bloody, and he was clutching the old, rusty butcher in his hand so hard that the handle cracked. He was broken from his initial shock when he heard a shrill scream. He looked to see his mother in his doorway.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Rhys sat in the comfy chair slouched outside the doctor's office of Westin Hills Mental Institution in a haze. The nurses had given him some drugs to calm him down and put him to sleep while they stitched his arm up. But Rhys knew better and managed to spit most of the pills out. His eyes burned as he sat under the bright florescent lights.

"No sleep." He muttered as he began to fidget, bouncing his foot up and down. "No sleep, no meds." He bit at nails, which were already nubs. He hated pills, seeing as he had three different prescriptions already. Rhys really didn't want to add a forth one. He couldn't sleep anyway. That nightmare was too real.

Too real. He knew those gashes on his arm weren't self inflicted, weren't some delusional suicide attempt during a blackout. That man, the man in the dream was real, he just knew. The nurses and doctors knew it.

When they were stitching up his arm back at the E.R. of Springwood General, before the doctor sent them to Westin, Rhys started telling his mom his dream and they all stopped and stared, even the male nurse walking an old man in the hallway stopped to stare. Not in the Your-Just-Being-Delusional way, but in the This-Is-Bad way. Fred Krueger was real and Rhys was gonna find out who he was. He pulled out his cell phone and called up a friend.

"Hello?" Paris answered, her husky Brooklyn accented voice sounded super awake even though it was six am.

"Hey Paris, it's me." Rhys said rubbing his eyes.

"Oh what's up, Reese Cup." She asked.

Rhys choose to ignore the fact that she'd just called him "Reese Cup". "I need a favor. Actually, I need two."

"Go on."

"Pick up Mika on your way to school."

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

"Alright, alright what's the second thing?"

Rhys leaned forward in his chair, looked around to see if anyone was in earshot, and when he was sure no one was he said, "Look up a person named 'Fred Krueger'." The cuts on his arm began to sting.

"Who the hell is that?"

"Please Paris just look for me. I'll buy you food." He bribed.

"Alright but no being cheap when you get my food." She said in her sternest voice.

"Thanks Paris, you're a doll. Bye." He smiled and hung up. He leaned back in the chair, pushing his fingers into his eyes, and momentarily stopping the throbbing, achy feeling that they were sending through his head. "Coffee." He said. "Coffee is good. Coffee will keep me awake." He jumped up and headed off in the direction of the cafeteria.

He dug around in his pocket and pulled out five bucks, more than enough for coffee. He made it to the cafeteria and put his money in the coffee machine. As the machine poured his coffee he heard a soft voice. Someone was singing. Chanting really. Rhys began to follow the sound, letting his feet lead the way.

Left, Left, Right, Left. Deeper and deeper, further and further, until Rhys found himself lost in unfamiliar territory. He looked around. The walls were stark white, the floor looked liked a light gray and white checker board and the glaring, intense florescent lights made his eyes burn more. Patients were roamed the halls in a comatose, almost zombie like trance.

Rhys stuck out like a sore thumb among them. They wore plain white pajamas while he wore baggy black jeans, his red hoody with black and white skulls and crossbones on it, and his white tank top that still had bright red bloodstains on it. They gave him the chills. They all hummed the same haunting tune and they all looked so strange.

One patient, a tall pale guy had a black and purple bruise that went all the way around his neck, the kind you'd see on a person who'd been hung. And Rhys had brushed up against a small black girl that wore large thick glasses; she looked like a walking mummy and her clothes hung of her bony body. Another thing that he'd noticed was that they all had bags under their eyes, like they hadn't slept in years.

"One, Two Freddy's coming for you." Rhys stopped dead in tracks and turned to find that he was staring at the door to a padded cell.

"Three, Four Better lock your door. Five, Six grab your crucifix." He looked through the small window on the door and saw girl with long wave mouse brown hair with a streak of gray in it, huddled up in the corner. Her big blue eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

"Seven, Eight Gonna stay up late." Her voice dropping down to a croaking whisper as her empty eyes focused on Rhys and bloody tears began to run down her porcelain white face. "Nine, Ten He's back again." Rhys nearly jumped out his skin when a hand suddenly clamped onto his shoulder. He whipped his head around to see his mother and Dr. Fretwell. Rhys had fallen asleep after talking to Paris. "It's okay, baby it was just a dream." His mother said soothingly smoothing his hair back.

"So we meet again." The good doctor said with a slight smile on her thin glossy lips. Rhys narrowed his eyes Dr. F, whom Rhys considered to be the pain in the neck. "Come in my office. We must talk about your new medication." She said leading him back to the office ignore the fact that his arm had yet again started bleeding.


End file.
